


Italian Wedding Soup for the Monster Soul

by verbosins



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alphys/Undyne Wedding, Babby's First Smut™, Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), Ecto-Penis (Undertale), F/F, F/M, First Kiss, First Meeting, Hook-Up, Magic Cock, Minor Original Character(s), My First AO3 Post, My First Undertale Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Pacifist Route, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader Works For A Catering Company, Reader has a vagina, Reader is human, Reader-Insert, Sans In A Tux, Scientist Sans, Self-Insert, Sensitive bones, Shameless Smut, Skeleton Boyfriends, Vaginal Fingering, Wedding, and like it, bone puns, ectodong, handjob, kind of, kinda dom!sans, reader identifies as female, uh, what else, you touch a jelly dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7462008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbosins/pseuds/verbosins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sans likes a girl who knows what she wants. Especially when what she wants is him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Italian Wedding Soup for the Monster Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Please be gentle, it's my first time writing porn. 
> 
> Criticism/comments welcomed and appreciated. I will absolutely respond to any feedback I get.
> 
> Let me know if my formatting sucks. I have no idea what I'm doing.

The exact call you're dreading from your boss jolts you awake at 8 A.M. sharp: “Michelle is still out with the flu – can you please please please be at work in like fifteen minutes?”

You're going to murder Michelle once she feels better. How can one person be sick so much? This was supposed to be your one day off in weeks and you were going to spend it in bed. Ughhhhh.

Well, whatever. More hours means more money.

 

You try to brighten up as you roll out of bed, take the shortest shower ever, and throw your hair into a messy updo. Actually, it's hard _not_ to feel a little excited when you remember what event you'll be working tonight.

It'll be the first monster-hosted affair that the catering company you work for has ever served. And it's even a wedding. You're keen on seeing how these guys party. In fact, you've been kind of severely interested in finding out whatever you could about monsters since they came out from under Mount Ebott a few months ago. Not difficult to do, considering the wall-to-wall news coverage they've been getting.

 

As far as you know, you'll be among the first human companies to ever have a chance to work with them. That's why, as your boss has said many times, it's so very important that this event goes perfectly. It may be crucial for monster-human relations.

You think she might be slightly overselling the potential influence of her Italian wedding soup, but then again, it's a damn fine recipe.

 

When you arrive at the venue a few minutes late – understandable, given the circumstances – everyone is running around like their hair's on fire. Typical for an event this big. Even for afternoon weddings like this one, the whole crew has to show up bright and early to make sure every detail is exactly right. 

You grab your nearest co-worker, Audrey, as she rushes past with a tray of frozen chicken and ask her what needs to be done. She wipes her brow on one apron-ed shoulder and directs you to start on the pastry dough. As you get to work mixing and kneading you can't help but imagine what tonight will be like. 

You've heard that every monster that used to live underground is invited. The thought of all those hundreds of fascinating creatures in one place gives you butterflies – from what you've seen on the news, not one of them looks or sounds exactly like another. They're just inherently more diverse (and, in your opinion, more interesting) than humans.

And what about the monsters getting married? What will they be like? What would their children look like? Do monsters even mate, or are they somehow created from the magic they can all apparently use? The possibilities are just wild. And all in a boring little town like Ebott.

You try to focus a little more on your work after you bump into Chris and have to re-make all the tarts you made him drop.

 

As evening draws nearer, you and the rest of the employees are a little less pressed for time and can slow down. The usual jokes and banter begin to echo throughout the venue's enormous kitchen as people relax, but talk mostly centers around the wedding. From what you can gather, the rest of the catering staff are also anxious to see what monsters and their weddings are all about. None of you will get to see the ceremony since everyone will be rushing to set up food for the reception. Once the reception starts, though, you'll be able to interact with them for the first time and you're practically hopping with excitement. You can't wait.

 

Finally, what seems like eons later, the wedding ceremony is done and it's time to start serving the guests in the ballroom. As soon as you walk out of the kitchen with your first armful of plates, you're struck by the atmosphere – warm, inviting, lively. More so than at any other wedding you've ever worked or even attended. Cheerful chatter almost eclipses the blasting music. Every monster with a visible mouth is sporting a grin, and not one of them (aside from the DJ – an anxious-looking little ghost) is by themselves. The brides – one, a short yellow lizard-type monster in a striking ivory dress and the other, a tall blue fish lady in a gorgeous matching ivory suit – are being bombarded with affection from all directions. You can hear their gigantic King's booming voice from anywhere in the room.

Every monster gives emphatic thanks when served and it doesn't seem uncommon to be asked if there's anything they can do to help. Imagine! Pleasant guests who want to make your job easier! A food service worker's dream.

 

You soon notice, however, that the mood is especially elated near one particular corner of the large banquet hall. Loads of monsters are gathered around a table there, rivaling the number in the brides' receiving line, and laughter is rolling off them in waves. You can't see what all the commotion is about, so you rush to finish delivering food to the table you're currently working on. You want to be the one that serves that area first. Your boss just sees it as enthusiasm and loudly praises you, making the rest of the kitchen staff roll their eyes. 

A couple of the monsters in that crowd look familiar – you know you've seen the armless dinosaur kid at the grocery store with his parents. The robot guy from TV is even here. But the monster at the center of it all, the one who seems to be provoking most of the merriment...you're certain you've never seen him(?) before. You would have remembered.

He's basically a skeleton in a tuxedo. It's just the slightest bit loose on him, or maybe it's just the way he's kicked back in the chair, but he's broad enough that he fills it out quite nicely. His eye sockets, quite a bit larger than a human skull's, have bright little white lights in them that seem to act as pupils. His face is surprisingly expressive to be made of bone, able to shift by some strange, well, magic. You can't hear his voice or what he's saying, but he appears to be well-known and well-liked by the other guests. That suspicion is confirmed when the tiny stone monster you're supposed to be attending right now asks what you're looking at so intently. 

 

“Oh yes, that's Sans, ever the ringleader. Are they getting too rowdy over there? Maybe we should ask him to tone it down, dear,” she says with concern to her husband in a voice as small and sweet as she is.

 

Snapping back to reality, you shake your head vigorously in the negative and place the plates in your hands on the table.

 

“Gosh, no, I'm sorry! It's just. Um.” You're not sure what you were going to say and start feeling a little warm with embarrassment. Thankfully, the monsters at the table are distracted at that moment by approaching friends, allowing you to slip away. 

 

On the way back to the kitchen, you see Audrey headed toward the skeleton's table with plates. A split-second plan forms in your head and you pick up speed to cut her off.

 

“Here, let me take those for you!,” you chirp. Your cheesy grin probably betrays your less-than-noble intentions.

 

“That's ok, I got it,” she says, moving around you without looking. You quickly step in front of her again.

 

“ _Please_ ,” you add in a slightly strained tone.

 

Audrey eyes you suspiciously, then laughs.

 

“Are you doing something weird? I get the feeling you're being a weirdo,” she jokes, offloading the dishes into your waiting arms. She shrugs and turns to walk away. “Less work for me.”

 

She bustles off back to the kitchen and you plaster on what you hope is your most confident smile.

 

“Hello, everyone!” you call out to the packed table. The monsters return the greeting with ardor, and some in the circle begin to filter away to their own seats so their friends can eat. You take your time placing plates in their designated spots, making sure to get an eyeful of this Sans guy as you go. Your eyes are not disappointed. The skeleton is still busy entertaining a captive audience with witty banter and hasn't noticed you, so you don't feel too bad for studying him in a totally socially unacceptable manner.

 

Walking back to the kitchen to re-stock, you realize you're almost feeling a little defeated that Sans didn't look your way. Tonight's uniform is formal and flattering (none of those sinfully ugly food-service shoes), so you're pretty sure you aren't too hard on the eyes. Maybe monster eyes see things a little differently.

Or maybe you just have to work a little harder.

 

This time, you make sure to say something when you return to his table a few minutes later.

 

“Hi, having a nice time?” you ask him cordially while giving the rest of the monsters at the crowded, boisterous table their meals.

 

For the first time all night, Sans the skeleton's eyeless sockets swing to you. His gaze is like nothing you've ever had on you and you're stunned to discover that it feels electric. 

 

“yeah. pretty fancy digs y'got around here,” he says in an unexpectedly deep tone. Oh. Ok. Yep. You enjoy his voice. A. Lot.

 

A little more small talk and then you're on your way, not wanting to overstay your welcome. But you'll make sure that's not the last time you talk to him. Having to revisit tables is an aspect of your job you hadn't appreciated until tonight.

 

During a refill run, when Sans isn't engaged in conversation, you look down at his untouched food and tsk playfully.

 

“Aren't you going to have any? The Italian wedding soup is one of our specialties,” you tease. Then, with genuine curiosity, “Oh, or do you not like human food?”

 

“nah, human food is fine. i'm just saving all my room for dessert.”

 

Something about the way he says that catches you off guard. You like the tingles you get.

 

Eventually, Sans is paying more attention to you than to the other monsters around him. He can probably tell you're interested in him in one way or another, considering you stop by his table every chance you get, even when it's obvious that no one sitting there needs anything. You even start to feel the bright lights in those dark sockets follow you around the room. Perfect.

The brides only booked the venue for another two hours. Better act fast.

You purposefully avoid his almost predatory eyes when you enter the reception hall yet again, looking to clear away empty plates. Back and forth, back and forth you go, making amiable conversation with other guests (they're all just so damn likeable) and depositing their tableware in the kitchen. You're careful to never even approach Sans' table, leaving that section to a confused Audrey. Slyly keeping a lookout for the skeleton from the corner of your eye, you're delighted to find that he's watching you the entire time.

Until he isn't. On your way out of the boiling hot dishroom after dropping off your last round of china, you're surprised to see Sans' seat empty. Huh. None of the other monsters seem to have a need for the restroom, so maybe he left early. Disappointment settles in your gut and a pout forms on your lips. It was really kind of dumb to get your hopes up anyway, you suppose. He probably came with a date anyway. Or, more than likely, he's just not into humans. 

Mentally kicking yourself, you turn away to-

“hey. kid.”

Sans is standing right behind you, hands in his trouser pockets. You feel a rush of joy and flash your open-for-business smile.

“Wanna take a walk with me?” 

“yes,” he says, eyes fixed to you. Your heart soars as you lead him to the door.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is your favorite venue to work. A huge, centuries-old house covered in ivy and morning glories and full of high-vaulted ceilings and chandeliers. Acres of immaculate gardens and willow-lined ponds. Even the scullery is alive with old-world luxury and charm.

You're strolling casually with Sans down one of the many covered walkways that criss-cross the enormous gardens, talking and laughing. A few other couples are out enjoying the grounds, but they're well out of earshot and not paying a bit of attention to you two. The music is distantly audible (the brides have great taste), drifting hazily across the darkened estate. The balmy temperature is perfect for a summer night, with a slight breeze that keeps the air smelling sweet and flowery. 

The fairy lights strung up along the eaves over your heads cast an ethereal glow on the two of you as you grill your new found monster companion with questions about things like how they're all adjusting to life on the surface (answer: a few monsters haven't been able to hack it, but he'll never look back) and his favorite thing about living among humans (answer: the availability and variety of instant noodles). He lives with his brother (?!) just outside of Ebott and works with one of the brides in some kind of physics research laboratory (funny cute AND smart oh wow oh jeez). Slowly, you're parsing him.

 

You quickly learn he's very fond of bone puns, and that he'll take every opportunity to inject them into the conversation. After a particularly bad/good one regarding “SHIN-nanigans”, you throw your head back with probably-unflattering laughter and grip his forearm to steady yourself. 

What you feel through the lush fabric of his suit – bones – shouldn't surprise you, and yet you're shocked into total stillness as a chill runs through you. You can tell you're openly marveling at them because his expression has shifted to one of amusement and he lets out a low chuckle.

 

“funny, isn't it. skeletons being made of bones.”

 

You look at him shyly, embarrassed but unable to help yourself. Your hand is still resting on his arm, fingers unintentionally tangled between radius and ulna like a chain-link fence.

 

“Do you...mind...?”

 

That was totally out of line. You don't even know what you're asking or why you have the gall to do so. He's going to laugh at you like the creep you are, tell you to fuck right off, report you to your boss and rightly so-

Without a word, he rolls up the sleeve of his tuxedo jacket to reveal the entirety of his hand and forearm and presents them to you.

 

In keeping with the last couple of hours, he's watching you.

 

You swallow and reach out, feeling light-headed from the high that is this surreal interaction. He jumps a little when your soft fingertips brush the hard surface of his bones and begin to explore with delicate touches. You run your index finger along the inside of the thin white ulna, testing. He draws in a breath, holds it. 

You interpret this as discomfort and quickly whip your arms back down to your sides, feeling awful. An apology comes tumbling out.

 

“Oh my god I'm so sorry that was stupid I'm just gonna go back inside and throw myself into the nearest trashcan-”

 

Sans' other hand grips your wrist tenderly but firmly and returns it to its previous position. When you look at his face, cast into severe relief by strings of lights, it's unreadable.

 

”i like it.”

 

Your knees have jellified. There's an undeniable heat growing between your legs, too. This is unexpected. Oh, shit.

 

When your fingers return to him, there's a little more purpose behind their movements. You drag them along the entire length of his forearm, examine each delicate little carpal bone in the soft light. Bring his phalanges into your palm and thoroughly investigate each segmented digit, pondering their differences from what lies beneath your skin. Sans' other sleeve gets pushed back and you repeat your ministrations on his right arm, mentally fawning over his smoothness and warmth.

The escalating temperature in your groin is really doing a number on your thoughts. You've clearly entered territory that can no longer be considered platonic touching. It has quickly become more about making his breath quicken than about satisfying your own honest, friendly curiosity.

 

You're definitely going to employ this scene later tonight in bed.

 

When you look at Sans' face again, gauging his reaction, his eyes are closed. His permanent grin has opened a little and he seems to be panting. One eye cracks open partially when you stop exploring him and the little glow inside trains on you. Have you been trembling this whole time?

 

“am I mistaken in thinking you're enjoying this as much as me?”

 

“Not at all,” comes your immediate answer. Your voice is shaky. You didn't come to work this morning thinking you were going to be drenching your panties over a skeleton monster, but here you are.

 

He doesn't continue the thought, merely waits to see what you'll do, hands still in your palms. This honestly isn't what you had in mind when you invited him outside with you; in fact, it's much better and you're going to roll with it.

Your hand closes around his and you turn toward the manor, a wry smile tugging at your lips.

 

“Come on, I know the perfect spot.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The house proper is generally closed to guests during events – the extra cost of having it open is usually too steep for most clients to bother. Tonight's patrons (Alphys and Undyne, you've been told) only rented part of one wing for themselves and their bridal parties to get ready for the big day.

Thankfully for you and Sans, the place you have in mind is on the opposite end of the house.

 

When you open the magnificent oak door to the library, it creaks loudly, causing you both to cringe and look around. But there's no one anywhere near here. You laugh a little nervously and lead him in. You can barely think straight.

 

“Don't worry about it,” you assure the skeleton. “No one comes through here. Too out of the way.”

 

Sans is clearly in awe of the impressive size and décor of the room, but his gaze settles on you with slight concern. 

 

“no one's gonna come looking for you?”

 

“Nope.” You pull him further into the room. “Now that all the food's cleaned up, the staff just waits around for everyone to leave so they can sweep and stuff. Guarantee you they're all just playing on their phones.”

 

He nods once. You can feel the heat, matching yours, radiating off him. You can smell him better than when you were outside – some foreign but intoxicating combination of cologne and what must be Sans himself. You distantly wonder if monsters produce pheromones. Your senses are quickly becoming overloaded from just being near him and you don't know what to do now. 

Sans' eyes flick over to a reading desk beside one of the ornate windows, bathed in moonlight and piled with old books. His hand still rests in yours, the other in his pocket.

 

“sit.” 

 

Heart still thudding almost painfully in your chest, you eagerly move to the desk and the two of you gingerly relocate enough books that you can hop up. You hope you remember to replace them when you're done doing...whatever it is you're about to do.

Once you're seated, Sans draws near and, after a quick glance at your face, places his hands on your knees. The bones of his forearms are still bare and just looking at them is making your mouth water. You swallow with some difficulty.

 

“touch me,” he quietly requests. “and tell me when it's time to stop.”

 

You're more than happy to oblige. You continue the cycle you established in the garden; fingertips trailing over every inch of his exposed arms and hands and back again. This time, the atmosphere has changed entirely. No pretenses. 

He's not trying to be quiet, either. Every time your fingers alight on him, he lets out a small groan and it's driving you absolutely nuts. You could listen to his breath hitch in his nonexistent throat for eternity.  
It's when he nudges your knees apart so he can lean into you and rest his forehead on your shoulder that you lose all contact with reality. 

You can only stay in this position for a few moments before you know that this simple touching won't be enough. Nowhere near it. And you want Sans to know that. So, mind and heart racing, you turn your head slightly and press your lips tenderly to his cheek. Sans' neck gives a pop in protest at the speed with which his skull pulls away from your face. 

 

His hands are still perched on your knees, stock still, and yours slide down to grasp them. Bottomless sockets search your eyes incredulously, as though he can't believe what's happening right now. You can't either. But you don't want it to stop, not for anything. 

Slowly, giving Sans plenty of time to resist if he doesn't want to keep going, you lean forward until your mouth is millimeters from his. You're so close together now that your breath is mingling. In the shadowy silent room, your heartbeat can actually be heard rocketing your blood through your lust-drunk body. This seems to awaken something in the skeleton monster. He grabs the back of your head and closes the distance. 

Your greedy mouths collide over and over and your pussy is soon throbbing with need. Sans can't exactly kiss you, but he knows just how to angle and maneuver himself so your lips can go to work on him. You enjoy getting to know the contours of his skull immensely. When your tongue requests entrance to his mouth, Sans shudders and complies, allowing it to probe inside and feel along the edges of his teeth. 

With your mouth happily occupied, your hands wander up Sans' back under his jacket, roughly feeling up all his vertebrae. He's burning up in there. He breaks the kiss to swear and go a little limp while you stroke his spine. 

 

“hah... _a-ah_...that feels...shit, that feels amazing,” he sighs, tangling a hand in your hair.

 

“Take off your jacket,” you whisper in reply. “I want to feel more of you.”

 

Sans tries to laugh but it trails off into a groan.

 

“so,” he breathes, moving to undo the button, which is a tall order with shaking fingers made of bone. “pretty little human girl wants to know more about monsters, huh.”

 

“ _Verrry_ much so,” you purr, helping him out of the black coat with wandering hands and lots of wet kisses. The instant the jacket hits the floor, Sans is on you again, gripping your arms as you feel his scapula through the stiff shirt. He's so close and not close enough.

 

“well, i've never been one to impede healthy scientific curiosity.”

 

His hands grab artlessly at your upper thighs, causing you to jump and gasp, and they continue to pass up and down your body as you massage his clavicles, his sternum, his ribs, anything you can get your eager hands on. Everything feels incredible to your heightened senses. Just his touch, even over your clothes, is sending you into gleeful paroxysms.

When Sans' wandering hands come to rest on the edge of your skirt, you hitch it up without even thinking. His eyes, closed in contentment through most of this exchange, slide down your body to the panties peeking out from between your spread legs. He hisses softly, looking almost pained.

 

“ _fuck_ , you're beautiful.” 

 

Sans' fingers inch up your inner thighs, squeezing gently, until they meet the absolutely soaked fabric of your cute cotton panties. The lights in his sockets travel back up to your face, looking for permission. You don't hesitate for an instant.

 

“Please,” you sputter, “ _Please_ , Sans, for fuck's sake, touch me.” Sans chokes.

 

He runs his thumb over your underwear, up your slit. The wetness he finds there and the open cry you let out at his touch makes him shiver. Realizing through the haze that he may actually not be all that familiar with human female genitalia, you wrench your panties to the side and guide his fingertip to your twitching clit. Sans emits a primal growl from deep in his chest at your forwardness and he resumes rubbing your slick nub with fervor. The feeling of bones rasping against the most sensitive parts of you is so peculiar and so awesome. You give him complete control, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him hungrily all over his face between moans.

 

“been watchin' you all night,” Sans huffs in your ear. “smelling your perfume when you came close, god, you smell so _good_...”

 

It won't take him long at all the make you come at this rate and it feels fucking incredible.

But right when you're approaching peak, Sans suddenly stops.

 

“do me a favor?” His grin is wolfish. You nod your head excitedly in a resounding “yes”. Having his fingers away from you is absolute torture and you have to stop yourself from whimpering.

 

“unzip my pants,” Sans commands. 

 

You go to obey, but startle when you notice that the lights in his eyes are...missing. His face is almost a little frightening this way, which somehow sends a new spark of desire to your already-sodden groin. Without warning, an orb of neon blue swirls to life in his left socket, and you squeak in surprise. Some kind of steam or something is just barely visible, emanating from his half-lidded eye. This bigger, brighter blue light looks you in the face. “unless you're having second thoughts. if that's the case, we can both walk out of here now and forget this.”

You chew your lip. You're a little nervous. Magic could be dangerous stuff. You don't really know what you're dealing with here... Fuck it. You're going to make him feel good, whatever that entails. Better than good.

Holding your breath, you pull down Sans' zipper and, quivering, push the waistband of his pants and boxer shorts down a little ways. Oh. Now you know why he asked you to do that. You were expecting an ordinary pelvis (as if any part of Sans is ordinary), but his clothes were apparently concealing a translucent, thick cock that seems to be suspended somehow in front of his pubic bone. Neon blue and smoking slightly just like his eye, and you make the connection that he must be using magic to form it. A new wave of arousal washes through you at this new development. It's fantastic.

 

“ready?” 

 

His rumbling, dulcet voice snaps you out of your rapt contemplation and your hand leaps at the chance to touch him again. You wrap it around his member, tight. Sans curses and bucks into your hand instinctively. He's firm, firmer than flesh, yet pliable. And so very warm. Again, fantastic.

The involuntary sounds he makes as you start to stroke him are absolutely delicious. You could probably come right now without any outside help. Sans is grunting right beside your ear as you run your hand forcefully up and down the length of his dick, changing the position every so often to get the most passionate reactions you possibly can. 

Suddenly, something wet and thick drips onto your hand as it pumps and you snap your head down to see beads of blue pre-cum trickling from the head. You slide the pad of your thumb up his length to collect it and bring it to your mouth (a strange but compelling new taste). Sans almost buckles in front of you as you make sure he watches you taste him.

 

“oh, _fuck_ ,” he mutters, but quickly returns his fingers to their former position teasing your clit. He pinches it mildly and, when you convulse gamely in response, plunges two bony fingers into your entrance.

“Sa-Sans!,” you cry, arching your back. He chuckles and starts sliding his fingers easily in and out, continuing to rub your clit with his thumb. The ridges of his phalanges, each segment of each phalanx is entering your pussy and creating marvelous friction inside of you. It's almost too much. You're paralyzed with bliss.

 

“keep strokin' me,” Sans rumbles, and you do your best to satisfy him, working his cock in time with the thrusts of his fingers. You're both practically wailing now, working each other closer and closer to climax. If your heart could beat any faster, it would explode. His hips are thrusting erratically as his breathing becomes even more bestial. 

 

“that's it, kid...just, _hnnn_ , just like that...ah, shit, i'm gonna...i'm gonna...”

 

You whisper his name and his composure completely slips away with a yelp. Sans is coming, coming, coming hard, into your hand, onto your skirt, there's so much. The sight of it, his handsome face wracked with ecstasy at your handiwork, the rasp of his exquisite baritone voice, everything about him, shoves you over the edge. You coat his fingers in your essence, inner muscles contracting with a hitherto unknown force while you try to focus enough to guide him through the ebbing tides of his own orgasm.

 

Once he's sure you're done, Sans withdraws his fingers from you and places his hands on the desk on either side of you. He's leaning his full weight against it, against you, breath ragged and heavy. You lick off the ejaculate that spattered your hand (a flavor you enjoy more the second time) and cling to him, fingers entwined in his white shirt, legs wrapped around his naked hips. Your head rests on his shoulder and his on yours. This feels...like nothing else. Too intimate to just be a casual fling. You almost feel like crying for some reason. You clutch him even tighter and stay that way for what feels like hours.

Real life slowly comes back into existence. Your surroundings filter into focus, reminding you that you're in a dusty old library in a dusty old house. The music from the reception, winding down now, can again be heard way off in the distance. Oh, right, you're technically at work. This sucks.

 

“so,” he starts after a few quiet moments, almost scaring you. “what were the results of your research?”

 

“Inconclusive,” you laugh, nuzzling his neck. “I'll have to repeat my experiment under different conditions.”

 

You pull back to look at him, smirking at your joke, but falter when you find he's looking back at you so earnestly that it hurts your heart. A bony hand comes up to brush the side of your face, which you capture in both of yours and hold to your cheek. The fire in his bones is a feeling you never want to forget. Sans' tender smile grows when you press his hand to your lips. Then, his cool demeanor is back in place.

 

“heh. well, give me a call if you need another test subject.”

 

Even if he's just being kind, even if he's just half-serious like he often seems to be, just the chance that you'll see him again after this extraordinary encounter has the potential to keep you riding a happiness high for weeks.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After lingering in the afterglow a little longer, clothes are re-arranged and restored to their former pristine cleanliness. Hair is tucked back into place and books returned to their original spot on the desk. Covered walkways heading back to the ballroom are traversed reluctantly. He's walking a lot closer to you than before.

Jokes and phone numbers are exchanged – Sans keeps misspelling your name on purpose, just so you'll grab his phone from him and punch his arm flirtatiously. 

Your grin rivals your skeleton companion's as you finally come to the massive mahogany doors that lead to the Real World. You hesitate to open them, knowing that back-breaking cleaning duty and separation from Sans awaits you on the other side. But he helps you muster the strength with a pseudo-kiss on the cheek and a squeeze of your hand and a “see ya 'round, kiddo”. Then, he's gone.

As soon as you re-enter the reception, you make yourself look busy by offering coffee to the dwindling number of guests. You really hope no one noticed your absence. Thankfully, when you return to the kitchen to pick up the last carafe of coffee for those monsters that requested it, none of the other staff says anything to you. They're too busy finishing up the dishes and having their fill of the leftover soup and chicken scalloppine to pay attention to the whereabouts of one assistant.

For the remainder of the event, you're mostly thanking the guests for coming and bussing empty tables. Even though it's getting pretty late, you can't stop smiling and your energy is at maximum thanks to your mind reliving the antics you and Sans got up to. And no one even knows except the two of you. 

At least, that's what you would have liked to go on thinking.

A couple hours later, once everything in the ballroom is prepped for its next event, you catch up with Audrey again. There are still a few members of staff milling around making last-minute checks, but everyone else has gone home. Your co-worker still hasn't eaten, so you wait and talk with her. You're overjoyed to hear her gush about how much fun she had tonight.

 

“Oh my god, they were all so adorable and sweet, even the scary-looking ones! And that Mettaton guy from TV, wow, he was especially nice and oh by the way where'd you go for so long with that skeleton guy?”

 

That last part makes you break out in a cold sweat. You fumble for the words. Audrey is looking at you so innocently that you don't think you could muster an even slightly dirty joke right now. 

No worries, a passing cook does it for you: “Well, when two consenting adults like each other very much...,” he trails off, guffawing as your head drops into your hands and Audrey shrieks.

 

A nearby waitress joins in on your torture, squealing “Ohmygod, which one??? The short one or the tall one????”

 

You're stunned. “There was a tall one??”

 

The small group that's stopped what they're doing to see what all the noise is about erupts with laughter.

 

“Ohmygod, how could you not notice?? Like, he was sitting right beside the other one the whole time????”

 

Oh. Sans did say he had a brother. You were a little too fixated to notice much besides Sans himself.

 

“Well, I was preoccupied with giving our guest a tour!” you fire back. 

 

“Yeah, of your _pants_!”

 

Peals of laughter again echo through the cavernous kitchen. You know it's all in good fun, but you're starting to get a little flustered. Audrey, bless her, notices your plight and shoos the peanut gallery away.

When the two of you reach your cars and say goodnight, Audrey suddenly speaks up in a teensy voice as you're opening the door. Even in the dark, you can tell her ears are a little pink.

 

“U-um, so...did you...really...what...what was it like???”

 

You just place a finger to your lips and hop in your car, speeding away and laughing while Audrey stands there turning ten shades of red. It's the first time in a long, long time that you've felt this good. And something about the message notification you just got tells you it won't be the last.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://verbosins.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I hope to post a multi-chapter porn with plot fic in the near future. ( **EDIT** : [It's here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7680784/chapters/17495656))
> 
> Can't thank you enough for reading.


End file.
